


The Art of Getting Lost

by Asrael_Valtiri



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Blow Jobs, Cowboy Kylo Ren, Established Relationship, Fluff and Humor, Halloween, Hux Constantly Thinks About Sex, M/M, Pumpkin Spice Lattes, Saloon Girl Hux
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2021-01-13 07:08:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21240164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Asrael_Valtiri/pseuds/Asrael_Valtiri
Summary: Huxloween 2019 Prompt: Hayrides and Corn MazesHux was hoping for a romantic date with his husband. What he gets instead is a mad dash through a muddy corn maze. Hux is skeptical, but with a little luck, maybe he can learn to love this odd fall tradition.





	The Art of Getting Lost

Hux choked down the final swig of his Pumpkin Spice Latte, which not only tasted like a candle, but had also gone cold. 

Ben, the poor delusional dear, had been so excited about Pumpkin Spice season, that even Hux, an ascetic at heart (enjoyer of bitter tea, black coffee, and whiskey neat), was fooled into trying Ben’s favorite drink. 

Darling Ben, so often on edge and overly serious, was transformed into a giddy child as they entered the Starbucks and ordered two venti Pumpkin Spice Lattes.

Hux wasn’t one to lie to his husband, but when he saw the look of pure bliss on Ben’s face as he took that first sip, he didn’t have the heart to tell Ben that he hated it, that it was like drinking liquified potpourri.

Hux placed the empty cup back in the cup holder, grimacing. The last swallow of the now cold atrocity was particularly syrupy and sweet. He gripped the steering wheel with both hands, annoyed by the way the car’s back tires slid around the road willy nilly, kicking up clouds of dust.

“I don’t think this can even be called a road,” said Hux.

“It’s a gravel road!” said Ben. “Slow down, you’re sliding all over the place!”

“I will not slow down,” said Hux. “I just want to get there. If we had used the GPS, we wouldn’t have wasted an extra hour driving in a giant circle.”

“I took us the way I always come. It wasn’t my fault I-435 East was closed.” Ben said crossly. 

“I’m still not sure why we’re doing this. Driving nearly two hours so we can, what? Run around in a field? How very American.”

“You could have said no,” said Ben. “I’m not forcing you to come.”

Hux glanced over at Ben, even though he should be keeping both eyes on the road because Ben was right, the gravel really was making him slide all over the place. Ben pouted in his seat. His liquid brown eyes looked as if they were gazing into the cold, hopeless depths of despair. He chewed on his plump lower lip.

Poor Ben. He was so often sad. And then, when he wasn’t sad, he was excited about the worst things: First, the Pumpkin Spice Latte, also known as the desecration of coffee, and now, this trip to the corn maze, also known as the desecration of a pleasant Sunday afternoon. 

Hux felt a bit guilty. His husband was a good man, and Hux really did love him. He would do anything for Ben. It wasn’t Ben’s fault that he had the same taste in leisure activities as a seven year old.

Besides, Hux had plenty of quirks of his own. It wasn’t fair to judge Ben too harshly. 

Ben was hard enough on himself as it was.

Hux slowed the car down so they merely bumped across the gravel instead of sliding all over it, and placed his hand on Ben’s thigh. He stroked it encouragingly. 

Ben placed his large hand over Hux’s hand.

“I’m sorry I was cross,” said Hux. “I love you. I’m just happy to be spending time with you.”

Ben squeezed Hux’s hand.

** 

“So this is a corn maze,” Hux said heartily.

“Yeah,” said Ben. “I used to come here every fall when I was a kid. With my dad.”

After his minor tiff with Ben during the drive, Hux was now trying to appear as chipper as possible. He would prove to his dear, depressive husband that he wasn’t a snob. He would show Ben that he, Armitage Hux, was as fully capable of having fun at a corn maze as any red-blooded American redneck. 

Not that Ben was a redneck, because he wasn’t, but the corn maze was nigh on crawling with rednecks, which made Hux slightly nervous. 

He wanted to relax and have fun, but Hux felt like he had a giant sign on his chest that said “Hi, my name is Armitage! I’m gay and British and I hate country music and I don’t know anything about corn!” 

Also, there was the small matter of the weather.

“When you came with your father,” said Hux, “was it always this hot?” 

“Back then? No. But yeah, today the forecast said there was a high of 87,” Ben said matter of factly, as if this blazing heat in the middle of October was perfectly acceptable.

Hux had forgotten his sunscreen, of course. The back of his neck was beginning to prickle, and his cheeks felt hot and tight. But he made sure to smile when he looked at Ben, even though his skin itched because he was allergic to both the sun and his own sweat.

He did not want to hurt Ben’s feelings again, and so he would not let Ben know that this was literally the worst idea for a romantic fall date ever. 

When Hux imagined a romantic fall date, he imagined a chilly bite in the air, falling leaves, a leisurely walk, and then a cup of hot coffee, or even warm cider, or maybe a crisp Oktoberfest beer. They would both be wearing sweaters, and afterwards they would cozy up by the fire, just the two of them.

Yes, that was the ideal romantic fall date.

But forget the ideal! Hux would even take carving a pumpkin over this, and carving a pumpkin was messy, slimy, and also made his skin itch. If faced with a handful of pumpkin guts, or running around a muddy corn maze in 90 degree heat, Hux would pick the pumpkin.

“I can’t wait to get lost with you, my love,” Hux said, putting as much sincerity in his voice as he could muster.

“Lost?” said Ben. “Who said anything about getting lost? I’m not gonna get lost. But you might.”

Ben smirked at Hux, which was cute, and Hux was happy that Ben no longer looked sad. 

“I assumed you’d be leading the way,” said Hux. “But I can navigate if you prefer. And I can assure you that I never get lost. Unless I want to.”

Hux cocked his head and licked his lips suggestively. He was hot and itchy, but maybe this wouldn’t be so bad. Maybe Ben did have something sexy up his sleeve.

“Let’s go over the rules,” said Ben. 

“What?” said Hux.

Ben was was making his competitive face. Like every face Ben made, it was sexy and adorable and pouty, but what made Ben’s competitive pout different was the particularly stubborn set to his chin. Yes, Hux knew that chin very well. And that is when it dawned on Hux…

This wasn’t a date! It was a contest!

And the only person more competitive than Ben was Hux himself.

“The rules are simple,” said Ben. “The first one out of the red maze with all five punches wins.”

“I don’t know what that even means, my charming husband,” said Hux as the fake-chipper expression vanished from his face, “but I will destroy you.”

**

Hux lived for competition. In fact, he could have never abided marrying someone who was not as competitive as himself. But there were times when it was problematic, such as today. 

For example, this game was not as sexy as, oh, strip poker, or truth or dare, or Settlers of Catan (“I’ll trade you wheat for your...wood.”). And yet, maybe it was a little sexy? Ears of corn were kind of phallic. In a way, it was pretty homoerotic, two guys all worked up and sweaty, running around a field of dicks.

And while Hux could tell himself that he’d prefer a romantic, non-competitive stroll through the corn maze, with smooching and hand holding and inane comments about the corn itself (“The corn is extra tall this year, don’t you think? And it’s quite yellow, wouldn’t you say?”) who was he kidding? That kind of boring, mundane date would be a waste of both of their talents. 

They were born to compete. 

Especially against each other. 

The thought of victory made Hux want to devour every inch of his husband’s sturdy, sumptuous body. Those dear, sweet nipples, like small islands on the ocean’s vast expanse. How Hux longed to tease and suck and taste those islands. Hux would ravage his conquered foe. He would do what he pleased to that pliant, supple body, and Ben would gasp with pleasure, finding comfort in his defeat. Hux would place his lips on that perfect cock, and he would suck until he was sated, glutted on the taste of his own glory, etc.

“Let’s do this.” Ben was saying.

“Oh yes,” Hux groaned. “Let’s.”

**

“What am I even looking at?” said Hux, staring at the so-called map that he had been given when they paid their ten dollars each to enter the maze.

“There are four different mazes,” Ben explained, pointing to his own map. “We’re gonna do the red maze. It’s the longest and most challenging.”

Hmm… The colorful, oversized postcard was unlike any map that Hux had ever seen. The red maze appeared to be shaped like an elaborately drawn American football helmet, while the other mazes incorporated stars, a goal post, a cheerleader, and the initials USA. How and why someone had been possessed to carve all of this obnoxiously patriotic imagery into a cornfield of all things, Hux would never know.

“We start the red maze at opposite ends,” Ben was saying. “I’ll start at the exit, and you start at the entrance. There are five checkpoints. They’re marked on your map by these numbers. When you find a checkpoint, you use the hole punch on your map. The first to get all five punches and come out the other side of the maze wins.”

“Very well,” said Hux. “And after I win, you’re buying me a drink, cowboy.”

There was a small barn-like structure back across the grass near the entrance called Hank’s Saloon, and when Hux won this asinine yet slightly sexy game, he would toast his victory with a cheap, crappy yard beer to the dreaded strains of country music. 

It wasn’t difficult at all to imagine Ben as a cowboy. Hux pictured Ben bursting through the old-timey swinging double doors of Hank’s Saloon, a six shooter in his pants (I mean at his hip), covered in dust after a long ride (Ben was very good at long rides). Hux imagined himself sitting on the bar, legs spread like the red-headed slut that he was, his tattered, emerald green silk dress slipping off his delicate white shoulders, fanning himself with a black lace fan. 

The soiled dove winks at the tall, handsome cowboy. “Long ride, cowboy? Looks like you could use a drink.”

“Fine,” said Ben. “Hank’s Saloon, after we’re done. Of course, when I win, you’re buying me a drink. So don’t keep me waiting.”

“Keep you waiting?” said Hux. “Why would I ever do that?”

“It depends on how fast you run and whether you get lost. It won’t take me long. We’ll see about you.” 

Hux scoffed. “Lost? Are you serious? Don’t think I haven’t noticed that this is an activity for children. Why…” 

Hux’s narrow eyes narrowed even further. 

“Don’t tell me you’ve gotten lost.”

“Of course not,” said Ben, and a shadow crossed over his face. He did that mouth thing, his lower lip puffed out slightly, proud, but with a slight tremble, betraying his vulnerability. It was the pout that meant that Ben was lying.

Ben changed the subject. “I’ll give you a thirty second head start.”

Hux’s nostrils flared. “Absolutely not. I’m perfectly capable of navigating a primitively drawn American football helmet. If anyone needs a head start, it’s you. I’ll give you thirty-five seconds.”

“Never,” said Ben.

“When I win,” said Hux “You’re going to give me anything I want. And I want a lot. You don’t even know.”

Ben nodded, a man of few words. Part of what made him such a great sexy cowboy. (PS now that sexy cowboy thing was totally going to happen… and soon.)

“Ready!” said Hux.

“Set!” said Ben.

“Cowboy!” said Hux.

“Go!” said Ben

And they were off. 

**

Hux had always imagined cornfields to be lush and green, dotted with bright yellow. 

This whole thing was, in a word, brown. 

The corn itself was dry and desiccated, a faded yellowish brown. The stalks with their long, sharp leaves were brittle and brown. It was not particularly scenic. 

But no matter. 

Hux rushed headlong into the ugly field of brown, trying to keep one eye on his jostling map. He ran straight, turned right, passed three offshoots, turned left at the fourth, and after several disorienting loops in which he had to slow down and count the turns on the map while dodging a group of dawdling preteens, he saw it. The first checkpoint!

The checkpoint was a wooden stand displaying a laminated copy of the map. There was a circle on the map marked “YOU ARE HERE” with a hole punch dangling on a cord. Hux punched his map. The hole was in the shape of a star. This was easy! And punching his map had been surprisingly satisfying. 

Hux took off toward the next checkpoint. He kept a steady pace, and felt confident of his progress. From the opposite direction, a family moseyed through the maze, tottering children in tow. There was no way around them. He would have to go through them. 

“Is the entrance that way?” one of the shuffling, imbecilic adults asked Hux, pointing vaguely.

“Excuse me!” grunted Hux, shoving through them. Every second wasted on incompetent morons was a second that brought Ben closer to victory. Hux picked up his pace, twisting and turning, weaving deftly through the corn. He began to feel one with the cornfield, even though he had zero previous cornfield experience. Perhaps it was a deeply ingrained instinct. Perhaps his ancient Celtic ancestors had chased their prey through a ragged wilderness such as this, their very survival depending on it. 

Several switchbacks and many offshoots later, he found the second checkpoint. An entire family reunion crowded around it, from toddlers to grandparents. The adults were laughing as they took photos of the kids playing with the hole punch, turning their maps into swiss cheese.

Hux stifled the urge to growl in frustration. He nimbly pitched through the crowd and snatched the hole punch from a laughing three year old just as the parent snapped a picture. He punched his map emphatically. The hole was in the shape of a half moon. Without a word of apology, he tore off through the corn, leaving the bewildered family gaping in his wake. 

Maybe they had just witnessed the legendary Cornfield Phantom. A flash of red hair! Then he’s gone! 

The maze was becoming more complex with many small turns and loops. Hux counted each one out loud to himself. The turns were all very close together and according to his map he needed to take the fifth turn to reach the third checkpoint. It was becoming difficult to distinguish what was a turn in the maze and what was just flattened, trampled down corn. 

Making short cuts through the corn was against the official corn maze rules. Hux had read the rules back at the entrance, and committed them to memory. Drinking alcohol in the maze was also against the rules, as was running, roughhousing, swearing, and throwing corn. So far Hux had only broken one of the rules (no running), Thankfully, trampling small children was not technically against the rules. But, needless to say, Hux was about to break another rule.

“Fuck,” he swore. 

The fifth turn was indistinguishable from the fourth turn, or was it the sixth? All of the corn was broken and trampled. Hux’s map was rendered useless. He would have to rely on instinct to reach the next checkpoint, and the one thing he did not have was time to stand here debating with himself. He swore again and raced through the trampled corn.

Yes, thought Hux, Ben was strong and fast and competitive with a decent sense of direction, but Hux was at least as competitive, and his sense of direction was beyond reproach. There was no reason he couldn’t win this, and oh, how he looked forward to claiming his reward.

“You look parched, cowboy. Fancy a drink?” 

Hux imagined hitching up his petticoats, layer after layer of black lace, and he was as naked under those petticoats as the day he was born. And then that handsome cowboy’s head between Hux’s milky white thighs, that sensuous mouth stretched wide, those plump soft red lips around Hux’s cock. Hux would take off the cowboy’s hat, and dig his fingers into those silky black curls, his fingernails raking the handsome stranger’s scalp. And those dark eyes looking up into his own, the pleading, vulnerable expression that came into Ben’s eyes whenever he was sucking Hux off--

And Hux realized quite suddenly that he was lost. What he was seeing in front of him, a confounding mix of loops and turns, was nowhere on his map. Or, if it was on his map, it was nowhere near checkpoint three.

He squinted at his map, turned it upside down, and squinted again. He looked back, counted the turns again, and this time he did growl in frustration (a habit he had picked up from Ben). What the bloody hell? Nothing looked right. Was it possible that he’d chosen the wrong path?

Instead of the red maze, was he now in the blue maze?

Surely not! If so, this was a disaster! He gaped at his map, his mind boggling. 

He heard voices from somewhere in front of him. Without a care for the path, he crashed through the corn until he emerged in front of a nice family. 

“What maze is this?” he panted, waving his map. “Is this the blue maze?” 

He flashed a friendly smile. His cheeks felt sunburned and tight and his face itched like hell.

One of the fanny pack-wearing family members shrugged. “I don’t know, honey.” she simpered. “We’re lost! We’ve been in here for two hours. I think we’re walking in circles. This happens every year. It’s so much fun!”

Fun. 

Fun?!

Hux’s forced smile congealed into a horrifying grimace. He muttered “Thank you,” and continued on, his mind working feverishly. 

How could he salvage this? There had to be a way. He silently upbraided himself. He couldn’t believe he’d made such an amateur mistake! By now, Ben would be one checkpoint ahead of him. Without hope of victory, there was only one thing left to do.

Hux tore his map in two and dropped it in the mud.

He quickly retraced his steps, and after several wrong turns, he managed to find where he had first encountered the trampled corn. 

Everything now depended on the hope that Ben would soon pass this way in pursuit of his penultimate checkpoint. 

Hux picked up two ears of corn and weighed them in his hands. The weight was good, heavy enough for serious momentum and light enough for excellent accuracy. He pulled back the long, tough leaves attached to the cobs and twirled the corn by the leaves until he had what was essentially a pair of corn nunchucks.

He veered off the path and crouched among the stalks, gripping his corn nunchucks tightly. This was his last chance. If he was going down, then he was taking Ben with him. He crouched lower and prayed to mathematical statistics and the law of total cumulance that Ben would come this way. 

“If there isn’t a god,” he prayed, “then please, let me have my revenge.” 

And, as if on cue, he heard heavy footfalls.

Perhaps there wasn’t a god?

It was Ben. Sure enough, he came to an abrupt stop when faced with the trampled corn.

“Shit.” Ben muttered. 

And this moment of hesitation was Hux’s moment to strike. It was time to break another official corn maze rule.

Hux burst out of the stalks, twirling his corn nunchucks. He let them go and they went flying, smacking Ben solidly in the center of his chest. Ben was so shocked he stood there dumbly for a moment, and Hux lunged at him like the feral creature that he was. 

“Husband,” Hux grunted with effort, somehow managing to wrestle Ben to the ground. “I simply could not wait to jump your bones. Also, on the way home we’re stopping by a thrift store and I’m buying you a cowboy hat.”

“What?” Ben gasped, surprised. “Armitage, I--” 

“Don’t speak, my love,” Hux straddled him and plastered his lips onto Ben’s. While he distracted him by shoving his tongue down Ben’s throat, he wildly groped Ben’s body, until he found…

The map!

He tore the map in two and threw it in the mud. 

Ben grabbed Hux by his narrow hips. 

“Cheater!” Ben said.

“Of course,” said Hux.

“God, I love you,” said Ben. And their lips locked together in a passionate kiss.

Just as the nice fanny pack family came around the bend.

“I tripped!” Hux said loudly as he rolled off of Ben. “It was so nice of you to break my fall.”

“Yeah, no problem,” said Ben as he clambered to his feet, his face bright red. 

Fanny pack lady smiled. “Any sign of the way out, sweethearts? We’re still going in circles.”

“Yes,” said Hux. “You’re very near the way out. It’s that way.” 

And he pointed emphatically in a direction that most certainly did not lead to the way out.

As fanny pack family wandered back into the heart of the corn maze, Hux took Ben’s hand and squeezed it tight. 

“I thought of a new game,” he said.

“Okay. What is it?”

“No maps. No running. No checkpoints. Just you and me. Getting lost. Together.”


End file.
